Stay and Eat

image | sound | story | index | home

Cabbages

“The time has come to speak of many things…” (Lewis Carroll)

This happened in a rain forest out on the Olympic Penn: My nephew was married there, and a bunch of family and friends stayed in park cabins for the event. There was a trail not far from the lodge, just a half-mile loop, and since we were a variety of ages and walking abilities that seemed about right for a group walk. And it was, just a taste of the rain forest, but not nearly enough of a taste for me.

Different speeds of walking split the group up, and some, when they arrived back at the parking lot where the trail began, went on back to their cabins, while others still walked. The result of this was that it wasn’t clear to me whether everyone was back out of the woods or not, and fancying myself a herd and guide, I volunteered to retrace the trail and make sure that everyone had made it out safe and sound.
I had an ulterior motive beyond care; I wanted to see it all again, and see it alone.

So I set off at an easy run, thinking to slow and enjoy once I was deeper in the forest.

It was late afternoon, the time that some photographers call “the golden hour.” Appropriate there, as the sunlight, which could barely stream down through the acres of deep green lace suspended in the towering trees was gold, green-gold in a phantasmagoria of giant fern fronds like firey ostrich feathers, great hummocks of cushion-deep moss sprouting finger-like fungus, nurse-logs with perched on baby hemlocks, hanging beard tendrils of jade-algaed lichen jewelled with mist droplets, so many roots and tangles that it seemed if you only held your breath you might watch them grow, inching over and through every available surface, all glowing in sunset lime-fire. I love it there! It is so beautiful.

Half-way around the loop I slowed to take in as much as I could, letting myself miniaturize beneath the impossibly huge trees, the vast quiet suddenly stark in contrast to my breath, but muted, everything softened by so much moss.

Peering into the patterns of spaces between plants I was aware at once of how thick the growth actually was. Off the trail it looked as though it would be impossible to walk through much of what I saw. The forest was literally impenetrable; trunks and stalks and logs and tangles of cloudberry so dense that only a very small creature could wriggle through it.

The only creatures I had seen could easily, which were giant adorable banana slugs, as big as small bananas, and in the most wonderful collectable colors; olive drab, khaki, glow-in-the-dark translucent white, and burnt umber; with every possible combination of those in pieds and pintos. They could ease their way through the thickets with slime. Wasn’t it a wonderland! …absolutely the best place for me possible.

As I marveled at the dizzying kaledioscope of illuminated vegetation a realization gave me a little jolt; this is exactly the sort of place in which people see Bigfoot. And indeed it was.

Following fast on that was another thought, a question; why, just now, at this very moment, did that thought arise in your thinking? Are you sensing something nearby, but are too out-of-practice, with senses dulled by too much jangle, to immediately recognize what you just saw, or heard, subliminally perhaps, or smelt? And why did you just think that thought? Isn’t that a sign itself that something is at the edge of awareness, about to be seen? At that, a thrill, a rush that rooted me to the spot; something is going on here.

The next thought, now that I was watching them with stalking stealth, took off in an unexpected direction; would it be so bad, really to meet Bigfoot? Don’t you adore big feet? (I do.) What if Bigfoot is really a big hairy hunk, emanating an incredibly sensual funk. What if he isn’t even a male of this world, but slips in and out of some trans-dimensional forest passageway as easily as a slug over a leaf. What if he takes you back to his cave? I’m good in the woods, I can gather nuts and berries as diligently as the next guy, some of this moss dried would make a nest… wind rushing overhead, late in some deep night, deep in this enchanted forest, nestled in an furry interspecies dream. I could get some rest.

Why, then, with a start, I thought; did you think of that? Suddenly I began to wonder if my hitherto hidden desire was extending itself out into the green jungleness, advertising my availability with the randy abandon of some crazed orchid pouring forth a skanky perfume to lure a giant elusive moth, one with a long uncoiling proboscis capable of getting in deep and sucking out the nectar. Was I responding to some smell? A flush of heat shot through my body and I poised for a moment on the edge of taking off all my clothes, then I panicked.

As I began, first walking quickly, then to a lope, then running hard, I noticed that I was in a low depression in the forest, the black duff moistening into puddles, a soak at the edge of a little branch, and there out of the dark loam poked the strange flower spikes of skunk cabbage, erotic prongs jutting up into the twilight, spewing scent. The air was filled with their heavy muskyfunk. I could feel it saturating my brain from the groin up.

I ran like crazy.

Back home I googled my way to a crypto-zoology site with a guestbook of testimonies; a hulking shape crossing a late-night road; big footprints plaster-casted by a stream, etc. Then an odd one; a woman jogger who heard strange sounds, then saw something like a box of “quivering air” tremble on the trail ahead of her; out of it stepped Bigfoot, looked around, saw her, stepped back in and zipped the air closed.

I wrote to the site, saying that I had had an unusual experience; was there any connection between Sasquatch and skunk cabbage? An answer shot back, fishing for the story, holding the info about skunk cabbbage as bait; you tell, I’ll tell. So I wrote, something not quite as frank as this. The answer came back; skunk cabbage is their favorite food.

But I’ve been wondering lately if maybe the molecules of the skunk cabbage prong are actually his home. Needs more research.

I do love cabbage. It’s so good. Perhaps what I like best is the core, leftover from cutting coleslaw, like a faceted prong, dipped bite by bite in salt.

My friend Chisato showed me her magic recipe for a salad of Chinese cabbage. The cabbage is cut up into bite-size pieces, stems and all, and put in a zip-lock bag with as much ginger and salt as you like, maybe some shaved-off strips of carrot, and sealed, then left overnight in the fridge. The next day it is a crunchy mild pickle, delicious as is, or perked with a quick faux ponzu; a sparse shot of soy sauce and a squirt of lemon. Or if you’re going for baroque, a dash of sesame oil, some cayenne and toasted black sesame seeds. It’s so good that sometimes I just eat it right out of the bag.

I had this as a garnish, in a swanky Seattle eatery, atop a Copper River salmon, smiling to know not only what it was, but also how to make it.

Since I mentioned coleslaw, here’s Cebah’s method; Get a good tender head of green cabbage (by this, ideally, she means go get one out of your garden. and chop it up. She chops it finely, but not as fine as grated. Hence, our proportions will be for a smallish head, say seven inches across.

Put it into your bowl and salt and pepper it. Only you can know the amount, exactly, because you taste it till you’re certain. Stir in a half cup, more or less, of mayonnaise. Not a lot of stirring or you’ll make it weep. To this you may add a big pinch of sugar, (a scant teaspoon) and a dash of balsamic vinegar (a couple of teaspoons, as you wish.) ...such complications can well be left out of slaw made with new green cabbage from the garden. The elder giants from a grocery may benefit from it.

Fresh dill is good chopped in, as are the tender shoots of spring onions. Cathy says a clove of minced garlic, and she’s sharp.

Gluts of cabbage can be kept through the winter as kraut. For that, Cebah grates her cabbage on an ancient wooden cabbage cutter with an adjustable blade. What you want are long slivers. Put a teaspoon of salt in the bottom of a quart canning jar, pack in as much cabbage as you can, and pour boiling water in to cover. Tighten on the lid and keep it in a dark place, (otherwise the kraut will turn dark to compensate.) In two or three weeks it will be kraut. During this time the kraut will work, and you will want to sit your jars on a tray to catch some overflow from the fermentation, which will ooze out no matter how tight you have the lid.

This needs only heating to be delicious, but of course all sorts of things in links are welcome additions, as is bacon. And, in memory of the wild things; beer.

Home of Bigfoot (by William Cox)

image | sound | story | index | home